


in the stillness of remembering

by jetame



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, im sorry, implied rape, this is odd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetame/pseuds/jetame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what robb had and what sansa lost</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the stillness of remembering

She stands below the heart tree, it's deep red branches reaching for her shadow. These days she had found solace beneath it's leaves, despite the falling snow collecting in the Godswood. It was a welcome break from the stress of rebuilding. Despite her shame, she openly admitted that she sat beneath the tree to entertain childish dreams and memories of the past as well. Not one for fairytales any longer, she kept her heart beneath the tree, letting it swell with love and pain. It was one of the few places she allowed herself to grieve, to feel the hole in her from her family, dead and gone. And even without her beloved southern gods of her childhood, she sometimes found herself praying to something, anything, that could heal her again.

Most days, it was her mother's face that came to mind, her blood stained gown and sad eyes as she faded away down the Trident, which she had always told of in beautiful stories. 

But when the snows fell deep enough that she was forced to climb upon a mound of it just to reach the tree, Sansa's mind entertained other ideas. 

In her daydreams, Robb stood beneath the tree, his arms outstretched and a smile upon his face. He called out for her, silly nicknames from their youth, begging for her to jump into him. She imagined that she'd cascade through the air, her flame red hair falling along with her. And he'd catch her, of course he would, because in her dreams it was Robb that dragged her from every mess, it was Robb that always won. In her dreams, Robb was strong and young and okay. He was always okay.

Sometimes Robb had a beautiful wife, with beautiful dark hair and a swelling belly, and they'd have little ones bounding around at their feet. They'd call out to her too, "Aunt Sansie", they'd squeal when she swung them up in the air, up and up and up, until her arms grew tired and Robb would chuckle, it would sound just like Father's, and take them from her. She'd bring them dolls and tiny figurines. Once they each had a tiny little wolf, fierce and too familiar.

That dream had left her crumpled beneath the trunk, her face buried in her hands. Jon had found her then, and carried her to a hearth, where he laid down with her to rest, letting her sob into his tunic.

The worst days were when she'd imagine herself on his arm, whisking her around the Great Hall, just like Harry had in the Vale. Only in this dream, Petyr Baelish's head was on a spike, and when she found herself tangled in Robb's sheets, he couldn't sneak in and hold a hand over her mouth to silence her when she'd try to cry out. Instead, it would just be Robb, strong and kind Robb, who never lost and never left. 

Then she'd let herself break.

And when Jon would carry her again, lay her down in her furs and stare down at her sadly, she let herself breath. Let the dreams fade to ash.

"He's dead. He's dead but I love him, Jon." She didn't need a name, he knew. He sat by her side, one hand stroking her arm, the other rubbing down his face to hide his tears, and he nodded.

"I know. I know."

 


End file.
